Return to the Therra PC Backgrounds Page

By Steve Gorman

To: Master Anquo

As is our custom, I am writing for my annual reapplication to the monastery. During my rare uninterrupted meditation periods I have found this exercise most useful to reflect on my life and the curious path it has taken and thereby improve myself. I have broken down the informational portion of my application into the pertinent parts, most of which you are very familiar with.

Youth

From my earliest days I have known that I was an orphan. The staff of the Ocean Blue Resort on Aliburr Isle took me in and raised me as a child and full member of their collective. At the time the resort was a profitable venture catering to an eclectic, but financially secure, mix of persons ranging from successful merchant captains to young nobles sowing their proverbial oats.

My parents, an unlikely couple at best or so I am told, a merchant captain of the Raft-People and the head of some unknown, non-Morrakki merchant house in the Imperium left me at the Ocean Blue shortly after my birth. I assume this was done to avoid bringing shame upon either of their families or commercial enterprises. Their names were kept from me; I can only assume at the behest of my parents themselves. It seemed obvious that several persons knew my parents but I could never get an answer as a youth. I still plan to return one day to ask again. Perhaps a handsome sum was paid to keep the secret.

Since all the workers owned a part of the resort and shared in the profits we dedicated ourselves to the hard work gladly. I worked hard, more so to earn a place among my surrogate family than for any financial gain. I struggled to be accepted in this close-knit community and I was. But children can be cruel so I bitterly lashed out at my peers in my frustration when teased about not having my own home or family.

As I matured and grew, my anger seemed to become greater and my fights became more frequent and violent. At age eight I was placed into the service of the God Indolle...perhaps after some especially bad encounter? I was apparently too much of a disruption to the peaceful resort; I was to serve as a soldier of the faith. Even though they assured me I would be welcomed back after my service, I was bitter at being sent away and rejected again.

I started out with simple duties and rigorous martial training at which I excelled, besting larger, more experienced acolytes through sheer ferocity and, on looking back, from fear that I would not be accepted into the order. I was perhaps something of a prodigy but my successes against my elders won me praise from the instructors, but no friends and many hard feelings from my peers.

The Priestess - The Chosen Of Indolle

My open fanaticism caught the eye of a young cleric, a priestess Imana Terris. She praised my dedication to Indolle, thinking I was striving to serve the god. Although she was a few years older then I, she was an ardent believer and tried to focus my angst toward the benefit of Indolle. I came to praise Indolle earnestly and violently in as much to please the priestess as to thank him for allowing me to be in her presence.

The priestess, unbeknownst to me, for many years was marked as one of the three Chosen of Indolle, who were destined to lead the church into a new age of prosperity. This was part of a sacred and ancient prophesy of the church. I never knew who the other two were and didn't care in the least until recently.

Imana Terris rose in stature in the church rapidly and wherever she was assigned I was at her side, even though many senior adepts sought the position I held so dear. We spoke often and openly about all subjects from church politics to our childhoods. I never lied to her and this caused her a great deal of consternation when she realized I served her above even Indolle.

At age ten I began to train as a full adept, learning rudimentary healing orisons in addition to my continued martial training. My spell related skills were abysmal by even the most generous evaluation but my years of street fighting served me well enough to compensate my utter lack of spell casting ability, or so I thought.

A few more years passed and I continued to serve Imana faithfully, but I began to be more proactive in defending her interests by ferreting out political intrigues and identifying rivals before even she realized they existed. I focused my entire being on Imana and her happiness.

When suitors began to call on her I was nearly broken. Her happiness was my life's goal and yet the mere thought of her with one of those foppish merchants induced a near-wild rage in me. Through an amazing stroke of luck she found none of the suitors acceptable. I came to realize that I loved Imana, but that I would have to allow her to marry whichever merchant she chose. This was the only secret I ever kept from her and is still the greatest regret of my life.

Silver Nose

And so it came to pass that the three Chosen were to reach out to serve select merchant houses to unite them with Indolle and to further good relations with other religions. Imana was sent to Valorilong to meet with a lawful and good faction of Aghorrit. Our party never made it to that town.

Three days outside of Valorilong a merchant caravan hailed us. I walked next to Priestess Imana's wagon as was my custom. The gaunt, grinning caravan drover led a total of three covered wagons and stared at us wide-eyed but did not respond to the hails from the outriders. I instructed nearby guards to load their crossbows as surreptitiously as possible.

The captain of our outriders was no fool and slashed open the canvass side of the lead merchant wagon. Before he could react a hail of arrows and crossbow bolts drove the outrider captain from his mount, dead before he hit the ground. Behind us I heard a screams from our rear wagon as archers in the trees on our flank decimated them.

I urged Imana to stay in her coach and yelled for her driver to turn the vehicle around. A pair of horsemen rode out from the back of the last wagon in the fake merchant caravan. The lead rider had a garish silver nose, which would have been comical were it not for his intent, and was barking out orders as he charged Imana's coach. Several foot soldiers wearing no livery leaped from the two other wagons and raced forward and swarmed the guards in our first wagon. I stood on the running board of the coach blocking the side windows from any potential archers.

Our wagon abruptly halted and I assumed our driver was dead and the reins had fallen. We were clearly lost. I called for quarter for the Priestess and offered our possessions in exchange for her life. An unseen assailant clubbed me from behind. Reeling, I watched as the silver nosed rider hauled Imana from the coach by her hair. I kicked backward with my foot at my unseen foe. Connecting squarely I used the momentum to propel me toward the Priestess and her attacker. I was too slow and could only scream as I watched the silver-nosed man drag his heavy sword across my beloved's neck.

Without a weapon, I broke my hand against the back of silver-nose's armored head. A heavy thud creased my skull from behind again as the silver nosed man slashed for my throat to decapitate me also. The sword blow crushed my collarbone and I felt a strange magical sleep fall over me. As I fell I saw the other rider was a mage of some sort. The last thing I saw was the sky and a great fountain of my own blood shooting upward. I felt a heavy weight fall across and face and neck. I was sure the silk of the Priestess' robes and her smell would be the last sensations I would have in this life as her body fell over me. In a cruel stroke of irony this was the closest I had ever been to her. A wave of blood blackened my vision.

While I was unconscious I dreamed of men speaking of Aghorrit and his dark faction's success in thwarting the goals of Indolle and the good Aghorrit faction. I have never had any success learning of an evil sect of Aghorrit. Not surprisingly their priests deny its existence. I still do not know if this was merely a case of delirium.

I awoke in the dark of night by a small campfire shivering. A group of tavellers had found me and applied some healing magics to my wounds. Apparently in an amazing stroke of luck, or ill-fortune, the weight of the Priestess' body had applied enough direct pressure to prevent me from bleeding to death. I was given copious quantities of alcohol for medicinal purposes that calmed my ranting and prevented me from charging off into the night after Imana's murderers.

The adventuring company had seen no sign of the silver nosed man or anyone on the road leading away from Valorilong. The next day I traveled with the group to the town and reported the events that transpired to the Aghorrit faction we were supposed to meet. In the brashness of my youth I raved about a sect of evil worshipping Aghorrit fiends, which was not conducive to information gathering. I was none too genteelly dismissed with sincere apologies for my loss. I reported the events to the local authorities in full and was again dismissed after I was given the directive to leave the city after several months of daily visits to the authorities and the church. No one admitted to knowing the silver nosed man. Right or wrong, I took the denials with no apparent investigation as part of a cover-up from the city leaders.

I reported back to the Indolle council and an investigation was launched. I was cleared of any wrong doing even though I failed so miserably in my mission. Still in a daze I was forbidden to commit suicide, which puzzled me at that time since I was no samurai and I had to find Imana's killers. Later the purpose of this command became clear.

I lost all desire to serve a god who would allow such a devoted innocent like Imana to die at the hands of those butchers. I left the church and journeyed the countryside looking for what many people believed to be a fictitious silver nosed man. My quest for vengeance was totally crushed since I had no resources and no leads.

I have since learned that a man thirsting for vengeance is like a dehydrated man in the desert...the more you drink the thirstier you become. However once I realized the futility of my quest for the silver-nosed man the madness began to claw its way into my mind.

It started with paranoia. I began to see silver noses in crowds of people. After several unfortunate cases of mistaken identity in the streets of the Dwarven market of Nirzumbil I was imprisoned.

The Old Man in the Mountain

While in the dwarven prison I began to hear tales of a Morraki monk, yourself, in the Aynayjor Mountains, who was willing to train Westerners. While I am half Morraki I was unable to find suitable trainers who would accept me with my gaijin blood.

Also during the long, quiet incarceration I began to speak with Imana. Strangely enough she spoke back. I have spoken to her every day since and she is always with me. No one else is able to hear or see her as I can. When I ask her why she stays with me she only responds that she was not yet done with life and will let me know when it is time to serve her again. Her presence brought me tremendous comfort, but my jailers started to doubt my sanity and so I was subjected to something they called, dwarven psychotherapy. This is something to be avoided at all costs. It consists primarily of dwarves with clubs asking if you are crazy. There is no "right" answer.

After a year of repaying my debt to dwarvish society and being pronounced "sane" I was released and sent out of the market. With absolutely no future and no belongings except a winter jacket and the ghost of my dead love I began to climb the Aynayjors. As if drawn like a bug to a flame I found the 10,000 steps and started on the path to enlightenment. While climbing the stairs I realized that the rage of my youth was left behind me in the cells of that stone prison, hopefully for good.

Imana stayed with me throughout my training and was very happy that I was doing what I loved. I will not recount the training process except with respect to the person who aided me the most apart from the you. Amhalla was a kindred spirit and became the big sister I never had. She never mocked me for my talks with Imana, but simply spoke with me at great lengths about the Old Man's training and life.

I found myself rarely drinking in the Aynayjor sanctuary even though it was not strictly forbidden. Imana was still my constant companion but Amhalla was there to keep me from drifting too far away from this world.

House Riverine

Eventually Amhalla finished the beginning phase of her own training. She was then to make her way outside of the sanctuary, training as she went. I focused myself wholeheartedly on my own studies so I could hasten to join her on her travels. Prior to her leaving and from her own reapplication form like this one, I found that she was in the service of House Riverine again, as she was as a youth. She even joined with an mercenary group that served House Riverine.

The news of her tragic but heroic death was horrible to Imana and I. My studies were concluded and it was time to decide where I would continue my training. It was that very night that Amhalla's ghost joined Imana and I. The two of them discussed my future as if I weren't even there! Imana was insistent that I return to the service of Indolle and Amhalla recommended House Riverine. When Amhalla said that there was a priestess of Indolle serving with the mercenaries under House Riverine, Imana immediately agreed.

Somewhat dumbstruck, I found myself at the base of the 10,000 steps with only a vague memory of my goodbyes at the sanctuary. I went directly to House Riverine in Dwillingir and asked to serve with the same cadre that Amhalla served. My request was granted after a brief demonstration of my training.

Since leaving my mountain home, my nightmares have returned three fold. Imana and Amhalla offer me their insights constantly, but I find that I must rely on the medicinal effects of strong drink to keep from having my nightmares even while awake.

The Mercenary Company

My companions seem to be a competent lot, however it appears that internal strife will bring about the death of either the barbarian Vaden or the ranger Pike. This would be a shame since they both are skilled at their chosen fields.

The priestess, while very self-confident, sullies herself by toying with a foppish bard, exposing herself to completely unacceptable levels of risk by gallivanting alone with him. Imana continually urges me not to voice my concerns directly lest I alienate her.

The warrior of the group is a powerful combatant. I have seen him administer staggering blows with his axe but his fighting style seems devoid of any finesse relying on heavy armor and brute strength. Regardless I may have much to learn from this one.

One of the group has focused himself on wielding magic. This wizard appears to have a deathwish beyond even my own in my younger days but the luck of a displacer beast.

The two remaining group members seem to wield weaker magic but also have significant skill with stealth and blades. One of them, perhaps of noble birth, leads the group and he and the priestess have frequent meetings with the leadership of House Riverine.

I apologize that I cannot divulge our current mission in this method of communication other then to say we seek to further the interest of House Riverine and we have been very successful thus far.

I still perform my katas and exercise routines daily with Amhalla and I have learned much from a few hostile encounters we have had of late. I will continue to work hard to make you and our school proud.

On the reverse I have provided the name of the person who transcribed this for me. I will have one of the group members read this missive to ensure that I have not found another charlatan scribe, like the last one. I will again assure you I have not taken to working in a brothel nor dancing for copper and that humorous scribe is recovering nicely thanks to my much improved temper.

Yours in Continued Service,

Croix Noret

Return to the Therra PC Backgrounds Page